


Homestuck Drabbles

by petrichorandoglogoth



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Doomed Timelines, F/M, Other, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Pale-Black Vacillation, Troll!Rose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petrichorandoglogoth/pseuds/petrichorandoglogoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of small Homestuck drabbles, starring many different characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When I Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She tried to do the whole junior psychoanalyst thing on him for a while. After the first few times, after he had put her in the med bay quite a bit more than she had planned, he realized she wasn't just going to stop, and she realized needling him probably wasn't the best way to go about courting a palemate. It was, however, pretty much exactly the way to go about getting a kismesis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, when I wrote this, I was thinking of troll!Rose, and I thought she would probably be a laughsassin or something, and then I thought that maybe she would meet GHB as she rose up the ranks, and her being her, decided to poke that damn bear and it all went downhill from there. This is very obviously crack, but I enjoyed writing it.

His elbow drives into your stomach, dare you say, lazily. You would pretend to be insulted, if you didn't know for a fact that he would see through it. Also, much as you'd like to say that you could handle a full-scale assault from his most Grand Highblood, you really, really couldn't. You should know, he's put you in the med bay enough that the docterrors are starting to seem a little fond. You are about 53% sure that they hardly ever even consider culling you for weakness anymore. Still, even a lazy blow doubles you over, for the scantest of moments, and you have to resist the urge to cough after getting your breath back. You straighten, rolling your shoulders back.

"Greetings, Your Levity."

His response is laughter, a deep chuckle that you know from sweeps of experience is truly pleased, not ominous. "Still trying to sneak up on me then, Alonde?"

So, perhaps, you hadn't put your laughsassin training to the best of use. Courting the Grand Highblood, you imagine, is not what your instructors had pictured as the most appropriate use of your talents. At least, until you had gotten tired of him breaking your legs.

"Hardly, Your Levity. I was simply coming to great you. I'm terribly sorry, am I bringing my work home with me again?"

You head snaps to the side suddenly. You almost allow yourself a smile as you spit out nearly purple blood on to the floor. He checked that blow. He really must miss you.

"All you ever motherfucking talk is shit." He tells you amiably, glowering down at you. You will never be big like he is. Perhaps in a thousand sweeps, you might match him in height, but seadwellers sacrifice size for aerodynamics and you are too much a seadweller to hope to ever match his immensity.

"Stop me, then." Your reply is unsuitably blithe, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Speaking without carefully considering the nuances of the words before hand is hardly like you.

Your breath speeds up. What could you have been thinking, to say something like that? Or rather, to say something like that without thinking about it. You're dead, you are dead and you will be broken and bleeding and dead. You back up without thinking about it, your bloodpusher pounding in your ears. You can taste bile at the back of your throat. Your eyes snap to him, calculating anew. Chucklevoodoo. So this is the game he thinks you will not play, is it? Hmm. Fear has never stopped you before.

The song pushes out of you in a rush. You sing it straight into his head, push it in through his eyes, fill him up with it. It is only an echo, an echo of an oldnew song. It carries the taint of death and rot, darkness and fire; it sings a horribleterrible note into his head. This is your song, not his. It does not reek of laughter, only deep darkness.

His hand is around your throat before you can blink. To be fair, one of your thorns is at his before he can squeeze. You flick it lightly against his skin and see a bright drop of blood drip down. He shudders.

"All right, sis. ALL MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT."

When he kisses you, you bleed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _you are sleeping off your demons  
>  when I come home.  
> spittle bubbling on your lips,  
> fine white foam_
> 
> _I am young and I am good._
> 
> -Hast Thou Considered the Tetrapod, The Mountain Goats


	2. Succession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Jane, Her Imperial Condesce

You were her heiress. You’d never understood, you’d never understood even a little bit of it. The wealth, the fame, the tiara… Dirk had explained. He explained about every little thing she’d done to recreate her world. But you, you were her finishing touch. You hated it. You hated her. You hated her for making you believe, all those years, that she was something else. That she was someone you were supposed to love. That she was someone that you loved.

You stand across from her, blood-red fork in her hand. Her fork. She made it. She made you, didn’t she?

You were never the hero, you were never going to beat the last boss. You all counted on him for that, your Hope. No, you were never going to go toe to toe with the monster who had destroyed universes. But you were her heiress.

Maybe she could have beaten you, if she was still Meenah. If she were still a Thief. But you feel your Life pulsing inside you and you know, suddenly, that your Life burns brighter than hers ever has. She is so empty, this Baroness. She used to be so much more.

She’s surprised you think, when you shove your fork into her heart. She starts to fall forward and you catch her shoulder, digging the fork in farther. Her mouth parts and she stares at you. You flick the switch.

In the end, you carve your predecessor’s heart out with a spoon. You love the spoon.


	3. None Can Excel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Rose Lalonde, Dave Strider  
> Relationships: Rose Lalonde/Dave Strider, implied Dave/Jade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songfic, inspired by O Death by Jen Titus

_O, death_

You choose not to be precisely sure of when, exactly, you turned to drinking. You are certain that your brother has significantly more trouble not being sure of exactly when he started spending his nights in Jade’s house. In fact, you are certain he knows the exact moment down to the millisecond. You both engage in your own private forms of self-torture. Sometimes, the young girl in your mind from a few months ago tries to tell you that your brother is trying to one-up your pain. You drink a little more to shut her up. Gods, you do not want to even get started on your own psyche, nowadays.

_O, death_

“You know, I actually thought we had a chance at winning this game, once. I wrote a guide.” You don’t know why you’re telling him this. In fact, you don’t even know why he decided to visit your world. It is not exactly his type of place, regardless of the redecorating you have done as of late.

“Sure the guide will be useful to other us, Lalonde.” Dave tells you, facade not wavering for a moment. He’s gotten better at it in the past few months. Privately, you think that he never really wanted to hide from his bro. He wants to hide from himself so much, now. You can’t even tell if he’s looking at you with those sunglasses on.

“Only if we learn as much as we possibly can first,” you tell him, pulling out your thorns. Dave keeps telling you to upgrade your strife specibus. You keep telling him that you are not, and shall never be, a fighter class hero.

“You got it, boss.”

_O, death_

“I’m doomed.” Your brother appears before you, clutching a bloody sword.

“Of course you are. We both are, if we’re right… That’s not it, is it? You know, my dear brother, I believe you are the only hero skilled enough to create a doomed timeline within a doomed timeline.” You hate how bland your voice is. You hate that this is always, always, the way it is with you two. You hate yourself, just a little bit, for shutting him out. You –  
can’t even begin to think about anything else when he is kissing you, hands in your hair instead of holding a sword.

“…Dave?”

“Fuck.” He gives a broken laugh, kissing you again. “Just wanted to do that once.”

He collapses and you see where the sword has gone.

You sob when you pull it out of his back and wonder bitterly if he thought imitating his sprite was supposed to be funny.

_*_

TG: lalonde

TG: talk to me

TT: I don’t care to speak to you right now, Dave. I’m sure you have things to be doing.

TT: Go do them.

_Won’t you spare me over ‘till another year?_

TG: im gonna go now

Neither of you will survive this, not really. He will leave you and you will cease to exist. Or at least, most of you will. You’ll lose each other.

You wish you could tell him that you don’t want him to go. You wish that you weren’t both such cowards about sincerity. You wish that you were at least as brave as Dave, who could drop the act before dying. You wish a lot of things.

TT: Good luck.


	4. Hard Times for Dreamers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Jade Harley, Eridan Ampora  
> Relationships: Jade♢Eridan

They’re laying on the beach, basking in a new sun that makes a purple blush rise on his cheekbones with warmth. His eyes are closed but she knows he’s awake (does he really think he can hide that from her? Clumsy heartbeat tripping along faster than their friends around them), but she doesn’t mind that he’s pretending. She stretches out a hand, touching the scar around his waist, just barely showing beneath his shirt (who even wears a shirt to the beach?) and she knows it’s wrong, she knows, but personal space is so hard and she doesn’t get it, has never gotten it, especially not with him. Not when that scar makes it hard to breathe and she wants to hold him in her arms because he’s awful, he’s the worst, and he earned that scar, but it makes her want to run her fingers through his hair because maybe he would stop looking so sad all the time then.

“Jade.” His voice is a surprise as much as the clawed hand around her wrist. She could get away if she wanted to, he’s highblood fast but no one is faster than space itself and she could run and she… she sighs, her other hand reaching up to, she doesn’t know. She stops it.

“I’m sorry.” And he lets go and all of the sudden she can’t look at him. She did it wrong, she touched him and she shouldn’t have and she doesn’t know these things, doesn’t know how they can’t understand that laying against each other is so much warmersaferbetter than staying separate inside yourself. But that wasn’t why she did it and she knows that. She thinks he knows that too.

“Jade.” It sounds tortured this time and he tugs her close and she almost sobs and she’s clutching the front of his shirt so hard that it could rip, it’s definitely wrinkling, and he doesn’t say anything about it. His chin is on top of her head and she’s nestled into his neck and she can feel him breathe and it’s almost perfect. “Jade, Jade. Shoosh.” He’s murmuring into her hair and she does cry then, shoulders shaking.

He presses his lips to her wild hair, smooths his hands down her shaking shoulders and she is broken and lonely and she doesn’t understand so much of what this means but that’s okay, neither does he, he never has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone  
>  Boy with a broken soul  
> Heart with a gaping hole  
> ...  
> These are hard times for dreamers  
> And love lost believers_
> 
> -Bones, MS MR


End file.
